To Tempt a Scotsman (Somerhart 1)

Alex yanked the door open, surprising the maid into a jump. The girl's hair had started to escape from her sleep­ing cap, her eyes were heavy despite the surprise.

"Did he say anything else?"

"Just that she may recover after all, milady."

"Thank you."

"Shall I call your maid?"

"No, no . . . I'm fine. Get to bed."

Alex c

losed the door and leaned against it. Queenie was recovering. The poor thing had been in steady decline since she'd delivered a stillborn foal at the end of spring. The stable master had wanted to put her down, but Alex had ordered that he wait for one more week to see if she could recover from the infection. But she had not held out much hope.

She allowed herself a smile, then headed for her wardrobe to pull out an old pair of breeches. Tonight, at least, would not be spent thinking of Collin Blackburn.

"Are you a ghost?"

Alex froze, heart like a trapped animal in her throat. Her eyes flew over the dark, picking out familiar shadows until they caught on the fiery tip of a cigar.

She hovered, uncertain what to do. The red spot moved, bobbed closer until she could hear footsteps against the grass.

"Not a ghost, I suppose. I can hear you breathing."

Her mind finally placed the man's voice and her chest ceased to strangle her. "Mr. Dixon."

"Lady Alexandra? Whatever are you doing outside at this small hour?"

"I. . ." She stuttered, caught her breath. "I have business to see to."

"Business?"

Alex clutched her cloak tight at her throat and glanced toward her destination. This was exactly what she'd hoped to avoid, being spied in her scandalous attire. But she couldn't wear dinner dress into a horse stall.

"Lady Alexandra, I fear I have interfered with a . . . a private meeting. Forgive me."

She could just make him out now, still dressed for the party. His dark coat turned away from her.

"No," she whispered, then with more ease, "No, of course not. One of my mares is sick. I'd like to see her myself. There is no rendezvous, I assure you."

He drew a little closer at her words. She watched the bright spark of his cigar die beneath a boot heel. "Do you not fear for your safety, out alone in the dark?"

"This is my home."

"Yes, of course."

"Allow me to escort you to the stables, at least."

"Oh, I don't know. I mean, I suppose . . ." He held out his arm. She wanted to refuse him, claim that it wouldn't be proper, but it wasn't precisely decent to be out alone, after all.

So she slid a hand out from under the folds of her cloak and took his arm. His teeth flashed white in the moonlight when he smiled. "Are you often called to your duties at odd hours?"

"Not often. Actually, I'm sure the stable master would rather I stay away, but I am not easily dissuaded."

"Your brother despairs of your strong will."

"Does he?"